Aside from starting too late and ending too soon, Maxwell delivered a strong, and occasionally inspired, 75-minute set at the Mahaffey Theater on Friday night. The hits-heavy show was powered by bedroom ballads and, near the end, shifted up a few gears with of couple of smoothly funky tunes, including “Sumthin’ Sumthin’.”
Because Maxwell never experienced the kind prolonged crossover success that made him a household name, he tends to get left out of the discussion as one of the top singers of his generation. Friday night’s concert proved that he should be considered among the top tier. As a New York City prodigy, he unleashed the neo-soul-defining Maxwell’s Urban Hang Suite at age 22, his voice ranging from an otherworldly falsetto to a purr to a growl to a pleading soul shout. At 44, the range, emotional power and commanding technique remain intact.
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Oftentimes, however, Maxwell’s vocal mastery had to fight through a wall of instruments, including two keyboardists and two horn players. Most of his recorded work is marked by relatively spare production that’s pushed back in the mix to highlight his singing. This show inverted that dynamic, and was worse off for it. That’s nothing unusual in a live setting, though, and — while it did render the lyrics all but indecipherable — the innate soulfulness in his voice could not be neutered.
The show was scheduled for 8 p.m., and as the crowd filed in a DJ played funky R&B tunes, mostly from the ‘90s, augmenting the recorded versions with his own beats. OK, cool. Warming up the crowd. By 8:45, it was wearing thin, and had set off a wave of watch-glancing and phone-checking in the seats. After the DJ left, it was still another 20 minutes before a recorded Afro-pop tune signaled the beginning of the show at 9:15.
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When Maxwell, clad in a tailored white suit, slinked from the middle of the stage into a spotlight, singing the gorgeous “Pretty Wings,” all was forgiven. He moved unhurriedly through “Bad Habits,” “Fortunate,” and “This Woman’s Work,” all in similar ballad tempo.
Maxwell is not an electrifying dancer, but he gyrates and hip-thrusts plenty enough to provoke squeals from members of the audience. He preened and posed, having nudge-wink fun with his sex-symbol image, as if to say, “this is silly, but we don’t we love it?”
Although he’s been enigmatic as a recording artist and reluctant toward stardom, Maxwell exhibited a genuine likeability on stage. He humbly thanked the audience for granting him such a blessed career, and when he dedicated a couple of songs to the tribulations in Texas, his sincerity shone through.
After closing with the delicate “Wherever Whenever Whatever” from Urban Hang Suite, Maxwell brought his entire eight-piece band (including a female backup singer) to the front of the stage. They took a collective bow, then Maxwell handed each one the microphone to introduce themselves. Nice touch, but an encore or two would’ve been nice.
